I take Mum to my bedroom. I’ve managed to push nearly everything left of Aunty Teresa’s underneath the bed, including her wooden stable and play food that she can’t bear to throw out because it reminds her of her first play set for horses. Not many horses I’ve met like plastic pizzas, but there is no point arguing with Aunty Teresa.
Mum sits on the end of the bed. “Your dad called me, Millie.”
I look at her. That is surprising.
“I’ve heard about this because Granddad told your dad, who told me…” She corrects herself. “In fact, I’ve seen that you’ve become one of these people on the Internet who films themselves. And you talked about Gary and me!”
“I didn’t!” I shout.
“You spoke about Gary. It’s not nice to talk about people behind their backs.”
“I didn’t say his name, Mum.” I sound right AND calm.
“Millie. You know I don’t like to be treated like an idiot.”
Why, then, is she acting like one by living with one? I can win this argument EASILY.
“Don’t worry, Mum,” I say quietly, “I’m sure lots of people have got a robot hoover that they treat like a child. No one will realize it’s Gary.”
Mum gets her strop face on and her voice gets higher. “You also know I don’t appreciate sarcasm, Millie. And I’m worried about you. On the Internet, there are evil people pretending to be people who are really nice. They want to hurt you. I mean, do you know who you are talking to? Do you really?!”
I try not to be cross at Dad and Granddad. I try not to be cross at Mum. She is patronizing me to death, but I know it’s because she loves me, so I keep calm.
“Mum, seriously! I am talking to them. They are not talking to me. I don’t say where I live—not even the country I come from. I know what I’m doing.”
Mum’s face goes red. “Does it make you a target for really terrible people, though, Millie?”
I still keep calm. “I think you’ve been watching too many films with Liam Neeson, Mum. Honestly, I promise that if I had any worries, I would come to you. I always have, haven’t I? Like that time when someone at school told me that Father Christmas took all your teeth away if you’d been naughty that year. I was sleeping facedown all December. Remember?”
“Well,” Mum says, “to use that story, these Internet people, like Father Christmas, are basically coming down the chimney, and they—”
There! I knew she was going to overreact! I have to shut her down before I lose it.
“Mum. Honestly. I’m fine. And all the homework’s still being done.”
And it is—I make time. I’ve got time. I still haven’t got an actual desk in this house, but I just use Aunty Teresa’s TV-dinner Despicable Me 3 tray.
“Oh, Millie…” Mum sounds a bit sad now. “I’m missing out on what you do. Come home. I know I can’t make you. Please just remember that I AM HERE. ALWAYS. ALWAYS.”
And she does her heart fist pump, where she bangs her chest and then pats mine.
This makes me want to cry.
My mum is lovely, really. I know I should be hating on her and loads of my friends don’t get on with their mums, but mine is cool. Apart from the fact that she is going out with a really clean dictator. Like a lemon-fresh Stalin.
If you love someone, it’s often better if you have different houses. It just sorts it ALL out. I may do a vlog on it.
“By the way,” Mum asks me as we go downstairs, “where is your dad?”
“Oh, he’s out doing some work.”
Between you and me, I have absolutely no idea where he is. As per usual.